


Stupid Bloody Tuesday

by Nope



Category: Doom Patrol, The Beatles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-23
Updated: 2003-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Alara Rogers</p>
    </blockquote>





	Stupid Bloody Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Alara Rogers

 

 

Listen. They're playing the Walrus song on the hospital radio again. 

It all happened just like this. It was that year. You know the one. The year they opened the Dog Door and let the Howling Ones in. And everyone went a little a bit mad. All the mes and all the yous. 

When I say they, I mean me, of course. Tom's a cold. I did that. I admit it. 

They're playing the Walrus song on the hospital radio again. Goo goo goo joob. 

It was obvious. I mean, everyone had heard the rumours. Just like on TV. Play the record backwards. Reverse spiral creating truth from fiction. Examine the cover under a microscope. Decipher the hidden messages. Sergeant Pepper's lonely. Paul's dead. But. He's still playing. Zombie rock. 

Paul. Dead and Not Dead. 

Listen. It all happened just like this. 

It's the old new thing. Belief and disbelief. Magic is just Change enacted by Will. Belief shapes the universe. The universe shapes belief. It's the anthropomorphic principle. The paradox syndrome. Defect from the new. Create the old. 

No. Listen. Can't you see it? I'm not crazy. 

Goo goo goo joob. 

Listen. I just wanted to change things, okay. For better. For worse. So. I brought them together. Paul. Dead and Not Dead. I did that. I admit it. But. I'm not crazy. It all happened like this. Basic mathematics. Additive inverses. Positive and Negative. Matter and Anti Matter. Dead Paul and Not Dead Paul. So I brought them together. Okay? 

No. 

I am the Walrus. On the hospital radio. I'm not crazy. 

But. 

Listen. There was a sound. A song. Not loud. Everywhere at once. Buddha gong. Universal harmonics. Backwards static hum. Big bang. 

\--and I swear, just for a second, it looked exactly like John Lennon, like John Lennon's psychotropic decapitated head and it was saying words that sounded different from four or maybe five different directions and then-- 

And. 

Poor Tom's a cold. 

I ran. Okay? I did that. I admit it. I ran. 

Listen. Anyone would. I'm not crazy. I ran. It was like being on drugs. Red pill. Blue pill. Red pill. Blue pill. And. You couldn't see them. Those things. I'd opened the door. The fracture. They moved at an impossible angle. At a right angle to everything. Perpendicular to reality. Entering from outwith space and time, at an angle to everything and howling as they came. 

Goo goo goo joob. 

Insect lords. But. Bigger than big. Smaller than small. Twin giant armoured worms, each the negative of the other, chewing through space with time refracting in their crystalline shell segments. Crawling out of the wreckage of the deadalive Paul. Crawling into the story. Into the world. So. I ran. 

And they followed. And burbled as they came. 

\--and I swear, just for a second, it looked exactly like something in this film I'd seen once or twice, shimmering, burrowing, down and down forever, up until there's no down, that awful click, the film stuck and melting on the projector lights and then-- 

And then. Like a shiver in the surface of the world. A Street where there was No Street. Right there between Abbey Road and Penny Lane. And. 

Him in his fur collared trench-coat and high heels. Her in her bandages and insect eye sunglasses. Them in their pale radioactive glow, hands in pockets and feet not quite touching the floor. The three in one. There s/he is. 

Rebis. 

Just like on TV. 

So I say: "They're coming to take me away!" 

S/he says: [Yes. I know. Forces are being gathered. Outside. Something is manipulating time and space. The quantum mesh is full of stresses.] 

And there's this song playing. On the radio. In my head. Something is happening, but you don't know what it is. Do you, Mr. Jones? 

Poor Tom's a cold. 

So I say: "Something's happening!" 

S/he says: [Everything happens always.] 

And: "Get down." 

And raises hir hands. And they came. Again. Big. Small. Black. White. Time. Space. Yes. No. Goodbye. Hello. And. But. 

It all happened just like this: 

S/he raises hir hands and they came, howling bubble words they came, moving through around everything and then all I could see was green, green folding down to nothing, nothing unfolding up to green, and in its awful reflections, two spirals, clockwise and counter, backwards and forwards. 

\--and I swear, just for a second, it looked exactly like comic pages, like comic panels side by side and end to end, like a panel of a hospital room, garden of Eden on the wall, a panel of spacecraft interiors and men made of webs, a panel of monkeys and robots, a panel of a walk on the moon, a panel of silver tongs, a panel of candles and a wheelbarrow, a panel of, a panel, a, and then-- 

And then they both pull back and lunge forward, Rebis between them, front and back. 

A fight seems immanent! Total nuclear frenzy! 

Goo goo goo joob. 

Listen. S/he says: [Release the Negative Spirit!] 

Black green flash. And. Time slices. Seconds falling. All around. The sound of bells. Again. Backwards. Belief. Black. Crazy. Flash. Green. Hospital. Listen. Paul's. Playing. Radio. Rebis. Record. Shapes. Slices. Small. Space. Universe. Walrus. 

I can only show you slices. But. 

There s/he is. 

Rebis. 

S/he says: [Can't you see it? No end. No beginning. The universe giving birth to itself. Infinite recursion on infinite scales.] 

But I'm not crazy. So I say: "Why'd you stop? You were winning!" 

S/he says: [Win/Lose. Confront/Retreat. Either/Or. It's an Aristotelian logic trap. There's an entire spectrum of possibility between yes/no.] 

And the worms turn. Spiral. Round and round. Closer and closer. Sinister and dextrous. Poor Tom's a cold. 

S/he says: [Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. It's okay. They're us. The worm cast left in time. The complete body, not the section. They're all us. We are all together.] 

And there's this song playing. On the radio. In my head. Everybody loves me. Nobody hates me. I think I'll go and eat worms. 

S/he says: [It's all about the journey. The confrontation and integration of non-self. All you need is love love love.] 

And raises hir hands. 

And lays them on the worms. 

And says [Take my hand. It's time to go.] 

\--and I swear, just for a forever, it looked exactly like me, like every me, going backwards into birth, forwards into death, looping in a giant circle of spacetime, and it looked like giant atoms in a double helix, twisting round and around, and it looked like a yin-yang symbol, spinning until there was no black or white but continuously neitherboth, and then it had always looked like everything and then it had never looked like anything and then-- 

And then nothing at all. 

No. 

And then. Rebis. 

And. S/he says: [Interesting.] 

And then there's a sudden shiver on the surface of the world and the streets shuffle back together, leaving only scattered confetti and a single silver balloon rising into the sky and the faint echo of a sound. 

Goo goo goo joob. 

Listen. I'm not crazy. It all happened just like this. Can't you see it? It's the trinity, see? Man. Woman. Not-man. 

Yes. No. And Maybe. 

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. Boy, you been a naughty girl. 

And. Rebis. He is the eggman. They are the eggmen. 

Listen. It all happened just like this, except for the bits that didn't, I admit it, and they're playing the Walrus song on the hospital radio again and anyway, I'm not crazy. Really. It's okay. Take my hand. 

It's time to go. 

Listen. 

 


End file.
